A Thing About You
by effulgentcolors
Summary: When he first started noticing it he thought it was an Emma thing. It was a Killian thing.


When he first started noticing it he thought it was an Emma thing. And it only made him love her more.

/

The first time they actually ate together at Granny's they had breakfast and he let her order for him. Emma called for pancakes and waffles and allowed him to try both and choose which one he wanted (he wanted the pancakes, of course).

He still remembers the way her cheeks flushed prettily under his awed gaze and the way she struggled to give him at annoyed look.

"What? I'm letting you choose breakfast, not our kids' names!"

Yeah, that didn't help much.

"Oh God! I didn't-I-Not that we-I mean, no, I- Ugh! Just eat your pancakes!"

And he did. But she kept stealing glances at him. Observing the amount of chocolate sauce he poured over his breakfast, the way he cut the dough into four perfectly identical triangles and the way he left the slightly burned ones for last because they were just that little bit better.

The day he has breakfast at her apartment for the first time Emma makes him pancakes. Four identical triangle piles, slightly burned, with the perfect amount of chocolate sauce on top (which is _a lot_ because chocolate in the Enchanted Forest was always bitter and here, ironically, it's magical).

She studiously avoids his gaze so he has to settle for thanking her with a chocolate-flavoured kiss (it's not that big of a sacrifice).

/

When he finally decided that it was time to adopt Storybrooke's style of dress, Emma insisted on being the one to take him shopping (he didn't mind one bit even if the same couldn't be said about Dave).

They spent the whole day going from one shop into the next and Killian's head was starting to spin from all the different fashions people in this realm had found it necessary come up with. Why on earth did he need casual jeans and t-shirts and some 'fancier shirts' and sweaters for when it gets cold and flip-flops for when it gets hot and at least two different jackets? He didn't really understand what was so amazing about this realm's clothes if none of them could serve all intents and purposes.

And he was quite floored by the way his Swan kept throwing item after item at him, asking him about colours and fabrics and checking sizes. And when Killian dared to venture into a store on his own he could literally feel her gaze burning the back of his neck. But she didn't tell him not to touch or to let her choose. She actually seemed quite pleased once he took the initiative.

The day she makes him a present for the first time (and he knows there's absolutely no cause for it because he has been extremely thorough in memorizing all of the realms holidays and appropriate anniversaries and everything else) he doesn't quite know what to say and she just rolls her eyes at him.

"It's not a present. Summer's almost over, it's getting cold, I just thought… Just open it, ok?"

_He_ is pretty damn sure that it's a present because she has chosen and bought it and is _giving it to him_. But he is still far from an expert on the traditions around here so he nods reluctantly and opens the bag she handled him as if she just didn't know where else to put it.

He later learns that it's called a hoodie and every self-respected citizen is supposed to have one. According to Henry.

All _he_ knows is that it fits him perfectly, it's the deepest (his most favourite) blue with burgundy seams and the fabric is what he had deemed his favourite aspect of Storybrooke's fashion.

She pulls the hood over his head and makes a comment about being glad that it fits, saying she had kept the receipt in case it didn't.

He doesn't find one in the bag when he picks it up later.

/

It was Henry who decided to introduce him to the music of the world without magic.

It was David and Snow who gave him an Ipod for Christmas.

It was Emma he kept catching turning on the radio around him, asking him to change the channel to The Voice, humming under her nose and asking if Henry had dared to forget to mention Guns'n'Roses to him (he had). For some reason she was interested in what music was like in the Enchanted Forest and if pirates really did sing only about rum and women and disgusting amounts of gold. For some reason he was always sitting next to her (and asked to give his opinion) when she decided to change her ringtone.

The day his Ipod disappears he is absolutely horrified. Gift-giving is nowhere near as popular in the Enchanted Forest as it is here and he treasures each and every gift he has received since in Storybrooke (even as their number grows alarmingly quickly).

When night falls he is about to admit defeat and share the problem caused by his inexcusable neglect. That's when Emma drops the device into his lap as if he hasn't been looking for it like mad all day. He would yell at her if it wasn't for the endearing way she shrugs and refuses to look at him.

"You had like 11 songs in that thing. All those GBs were going to waste."

They certainly aren't going to waste now is all he can think as he scrolls through more than two hundred songs. Each one absolutely _perfect_ in its own way. Some are in that rock'n'roll style he had declared bloody brilliant. Some remind him of the songs that had floated along with the Jolly Roger so much that he wonders if there was some sorcery involved in procuring them. Some fill his ears and his heart with verses so perfectly suited for one period or another of his last 300 years that he has to watch himself when listening to them in public. Some (his favourite) he can swear on anything have been written specifically for him and Emma.

No matter how many times he asks she just waves it off, telling him she put in whatever she had laying around on her laptop. But when they're laying on the couch on a Sunday afternoon, she never turns on The Voice or her laptop but grabs his Ipod instead, attaching it to those magical speakers of hers, and snuggles closer to him.

/

As much as he enjoyed helping Emma and David at the sheriff station, when there wasn't a witch running around town, trying to curse or freeze everyone, there really wasn't much for them to do. So David kept bringing little Neal over and pacing the small station until Killian or Emma eventually kicked him (and that pair of lungs inside his toddler) out. Emma diligently did all the paperwork while mumbling about 'guys who were only there for the exciting hero stuff'. And Killian took to bringing a book to the station every day (and usually finishing it before the week was up).

Whenever he came back with their coffee from Granny's he always caught Emma with his book in her hands, obviously looking over the summary on the back. But when he asked if she wanted to read it she said no. When he asked if she wanted him to get another one for her she said no. When he sent David a questioning look he just shrugged as if to say 'hey I'm only here for the exciting hero stuff'.

The day he officially moves in Emma gives him a quick (completely unnecessary) tour of the apartment, ending up in the bedroom and showing him which drawers she has cleared out for him and which part of the wardrobe he should never dare to venture into.

"Oh, and you can put your books and charts and stuff like that next to these."

Her gesture is somewhat nervous and she hurries out of the room as he starts inspecting the lovely piece on the wall opposite the bed.

The shelf is rather beautiful. Massive wood, gentle curves, beautiful carvings along the sides.

Killian swears he has never seen it before (and he has been in her their bedroom _plenty_ of times).

The books on it are even better. Ulysses, Treasure Island, The Great Gatsby, Lord of the Flies, _Peter Pan_. He can already tell they will be keeping him occupied for months to come. He sees the names of authors he has been reading in the last few months. Sees even a couple of books (his favourite) he has already read (but the editions before him are so much more beautiful than the ones he had taken from the library).

Later Emma says she has collected them over the years.

Interestingly enough not one of the covers is bent.

/

When he first started noticing it he thought it was an Emma thing. It wasn't.

/

They are babysitting Neal tonight and David has just dropped him off and is checking his watch to make sure he won't be late for dinner with Snow. Turns out he has time for some coffee (the fact that Henry and Killian are watching Die Hard 3 may or may not have something to do with the prince's time management decisions).

"Dad, how much sugar do you want in your coffee?"

"No sugar. Just some cream."

Killian frowns in confusion. He knows Swan has had coffee with her father plenty of times (he has been present for most of those). Even he knows that David doesn't take any sugar in his coffee. It's bloody hard to imagine that Emma will forget, the girl who knows that his favourite ice-cream is a mix of yogurt with cherries, dark chocolate with chocolate chips, raspberry sorbet and a healthy (or rather _un_healthy) dose of chocolate syrup.

/

Regina's birthday isn't exactly a celebration the whole town takes part in. But Henry is, of course, invited and absolutely desperate to get his mom the perfect present.

"He said he'll handle the sentimental part but we have to get her something classy. A dress or whatever."

Killian isn't sure how he is supposed to help and believes that for three years Swan has more than enough observations of Regina to base a single present on.

Apparently not.

The sheriff gets stumped on the very first question: favourite colour. Killian's eyebrow is having trouble staying in the confines of his forehead. He thinks that red is the pretty obvious answer.

He ends up picking the present more or less by himself and then gets stuck with awkwardly accepting Regina's even more awkward thanks.

/

Karaoke at the Rabbit Hole is obviously a rite of passage of some sort. Killian is well aware of that (been there, done that, requesting more shots as a reward next time). Snow White, on the other hand, has somehow managed to avoid that particular brand of embarrassment. Until tonight.

"Mom, come oooon! I'm gonna go with you. We're gonna pick such a ridiculous song that people won't even notice how bad we are. Then we'll send up the guys to do damage control. How about some Britney? Come on, I'll let you pick the song."

Shocked expressions are all the tipsy Savior receives.

Snow White, graceful, benevolent woman that she is, does not hate many things. Actually Killian can think of only two: apples and Britney Spears.

How that has escaped her exceptionally perceptive daughter's attention he cannot fathom.

/

Killian doesn't even bother drying off, just wraps a towel hastily around his waist and makes his way towards the incessant crying coming from the living room.

He thought Neal was past his 'let's make sure the whole family is deaf by the time I grow up' phase.

"Bloody Hell! Swan, what on earth are you doing?"

He might be. But there's one certain book that is bound to reduce the lad to tears in seconds and keep him going all through the night.

And his sister is currently holding it in her hands and trying to keep him in her lap and continue the torture.

'Peter Pan' is not something baby Neal has ever appreciated.

/

The evidence keeps piling up until Killian is forced to admit that Emma might not be as aware of everybody's preferences as he imagined. Once he does, things start to fall into place. He starts to notice other things as well.

The way she seems to catalogue his reactions when they're making love. The way she knows exactly where to touch him, exactly how fast to stroke him, exactly when to bite that spot on his neck, exactly when to whisper something dirty in his ear, exactly how much pain he likes mixed in with his pleasure.

The magical way she has figured out each and every single one of his ticklish spots.

The way she finds out which shower gel scent he loves the most, which blanket he prefers to snuggle under when taking a nap on the couch, how strong he needs his coffee when he has to stay up all night, how long it takes to get him hooked (_bloody stupid_ pun not intended) on some ridiculous TV show.

He's too floored to comprehend it all at first and when he tries to question her she shrugs it off or changes the subject or just rolls her eyes at him and says (_lies_) that she doesn't know what he's talking about.

It's not an Emma thing. It's a Killian thing.

/

Henry's at a sleepover (Killian was confused for a moment there, starting to explain how the lad was still a bit too young for such things, when Emma slapped a hand over his mouth, hissed about 'explaining later'). Emma is making hot chocolate and he is sitting on one of the bar stools, observing the way she puts more cream on hers than she does on his, only cinnamon for her and cinnamon and cocoa powder for him.

"How do you know that?" he blurts out, unable to help himself and suddenly this is _the moment_.

The moment he is going to find out.

"What?" she asked distractedly, licking cocoa of her index finger (it's almost enough to derail his train of thought but he can be just as stubborn as she is and _bloody hell_ he wants to know).

"Exactly how I like my chocolate beverage."

Emma turns around, her brows furrowed together in obvious confusion, sets his cup in front of him and takes a seat.

"I make it for you almost every day?" she asks, lifting a bemused eyebrow.

"Yet you don't know that Neal cannot stand the apple purée and that your mother is bloody allergic to walnuts?"

Emma's eyes narrow a little, lips pressing into a thin line, and there's a combination of shock and displeasure in her stare.

"Are you accusing me of not paying enough attention to my family or something? Because, I'm sorry, Captain Perfect, but not all of us can remember everybody's favourite colour and movie and-"

"Bloody hell! No, no!" he says quickly, eyes widening a little because this is not where he was going with this _at all_. "That's not what I was trying to say, lass."

"Then what _were_ you trying to say, Killian?" shoots back Emma, crossing her arms in front of her chest and giving him a challenging look.

The brunet takes a deep breath, a little more apprehensive now because she's _already_ irritated with him but at the same time…

"Why do you know all those things about _me_?"

Emma's eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she schools her expression back to normal. It's more than enough for Killian.

"What things?" she mumbles and draws her cup closer to her, hands wrapping around the warm porcelain.

"_Every_thing!" he exclaims, startling her a little before lowering his voice to a pleasant murmur. "What shape I like that pasta thing in – because you never buy the annoying little swirls anymore, how many beers I'm going to drink depending on what sort of movie Henry is subjecting us to – because we always have exactly enough in the fridge, what hour of the night I wake up in to open the window so that the breeze can come in – because you get up minutes before that and do it for me. _Everything_."

He watches her fingers squeeze the cup a little tighter, watches her swallow a little slower, watches her eyes flicker to his hand, then his chest, before they finally meet his.

"Do you mind?"

That's… not what he had expected.

"Mind?!" he's off his stool and in front of her before she knows it. "Emma, love, how can you even think I would mind your attention and…"

He just shakes his head, unable to express how much her care to every single details means to him. He's just bloody confused because nobody has ever…

He moves forwards, smiling a little as she automatically opens her legs to let him step in between them.

"I do not_ mind_ at all, sweetheart. I just want to know why, conceited bastard that I am."

That gets him a laugh and her arms reach up to wrap around his neck as his come to rest on her tights.

"'Cause I love you not enough of an explanation?" she says with a coy little smile that tells him she knows exactly what she is doing.

She has said it before. She has said it many times – murmured it, gasped it, cried it out in fear or in ecstasy, breathed it over his flesh, screamed it in his flushed face.

It never fails to make his whole being tingle and glow.

"That is indeed my favourite explanation but I was expecting something more… specific," he replies with a grin, leaning towards her neck and peppering little 'love you too's there.

Emma sighs, something between pleasure at his ministrations and annoyance at his persistence.

When she pulls back, he knows he has won but without her skin beneath his lips he doesn't really feel like it.

"You're what? 300 and counting?" she says exasperatedly, eyes flashing as if she's mad at him for it.

"Too old for you, Swan?" he lifts an amused eyebrow, his hook drawing tantalizing patters over her tight.

She gives him a very unladylike snort and a look that says 'you're not as cute as you think you are' (he knows he isn't but he also knows that she thinks he is).

"It's just…" her gaze drops to her lap and she latches onto his hand so that her fingers have something to play with and relieve her tension. "It's a long time so you've done a lot and seen a lot and… there's just _a lot_ about you, ok?"

He has no idea whether it's ok or not. He has no idea what that has to do with-

"I'm trying to learn as much as possible."

He knows that what his heart is doing in his chest in that moment cannot be healthy. He doesn't care.

Suddenly he understands and it's all a bit too much. She wants to know him. All of him. She watches, she listens, she asks, she observes. But what she does afterwards, with the information she has gather… well, he guesses the reason for that lies in her first explanation.

"Emma," it's a breath more that it's a word and then his hand is in her hair, drawing her closer and kissing her as if he wants to draw her into himself and keep her, keep her forever.

If the way she responds is any indication, she wouldn't mind terribly.

"I love you so bloody much," he murmurs against her lips.

"I know," she grins wide and sure and beautiful.

And he's glad. She deserves to know how very loved she is. The way she has let him know.


End file.
